


Stranded

by shadowsamurai



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 02:50:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsamurai/pseuds/shadowsamurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The inane, as Boyd judged it, discussion had started one night when the team was working late. Fuelled by too much caffeine and takeaway food, Mel suddenly came out with, "If you were stranded on a desert island, and you were only allowed three things, what would they be?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranded

**Author's Note:**

> Quite possibly one of those stories that defines silly. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;)

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The inane, as Boyd judged it, discussion had started one night when the team was working late. Fuelled by too much caffeine and takeaway food, Mel suddenly came out with, "If you were stranded on a desert island, and you were only allowed three things, what would they be?"

Frankie, of course, replied, "A helicopter to take me back to civilisation."

"What's wrong with a boat?" Spencer asked.

"I don't do boats," Frankie replied firmly.

"Alright, you're stuck on this desert island, and...," Mel started.

"How big is it?" Grace asked.

Mel looked at her. "Why does that matter?"

"Well, say I wanted a pool table as one of my things, the island might not be big enough," the profiler replied. Boyd could tell that Grace was actually being serious, though the others thought she was joking, and it took all of his self control not to bury his head in his hands and cry.

Mel rolled her eyes and looked around. "It's the size of your office, okay? Now..."

Again, Grace interrupted. "Are there any trees on it?"

"A couple."

"Any wildlife?"

"For God's sake, Grace, it's a fictional desert island the size of your office!" Mel said in exasperation. "What exactly do you want from it?"

The tone she used was so reminiscent of Boyd that both Spencer and Frankie looked startled, while the DSI simply sat and smirked with pride. Grace, however, didn't notice. Instead she just sat there with a look of intense concentration on her face.

"Well, a jukebox might be nice," the profiler started to reply in answer to Mel's question. "I suppose that would mean electricity in some form as well. A jacuzzi." Then a dreamy smile came over her face. "A jacuzzi with George Clooney in it."

Spencer and Frankie tried not to laugh, Boyd suddenly scowled, and Mel looked like she was ready to kill them all with whatever she could lay her hands on. Looking around at her desk, all she could reach easily was a ruler and some paper; perhaps she could slap them to death or set a Guinness Book of Records record for number of paper cuts on one person.

Instead, she settled for taking a deep breath before speaking. "Look, it's just a plain old boring desert island. All sand and the size of your office. Three trees, no wildlife, and no electricity. And no boats or helicopters to rescue you either."

Spencer relented first, saving his friend and partner from her growing anger, and the rest of them from laughter induced injuries. "Alright. If I could only have three things on a desert island, I'd pick the three hottest women from the Playboy mansion," he said grinning.

"Spence!" Frankie shook her head.

"No, wait..." His expression turned thoughtful. "Damn. It would have to be only two hot babes and a bed. Sand," he said by way of explanation.

"Typical," Boyd muttered.

"Okay, my turn," Frankie said as they warmed to the game. "Hmm. I think it would have to be my favourite book, a very long lasting candle, and the biggest bar of chocolate I can get my hands on. Mel?"

"A tent, a sleeping bag, and a fishing rod," she replied, then, at the odd looks her colleagues were giving her, added, "What?"

"A fishing rod?" Boyd asked.

"I don't want to go hungry," Mel said defensively.

"You've got no way of cooking them!"

"It's an imaginary island. What does it matter?"

Grace held her hands up. "Children, play nicely."

"Come on, Grace, what about you?" Frankie asked.

The profiler looked at Boyd for a beat too long before answering. "A bottle of wine and a glass."

"And?" Spencer asked.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Then opened it again and said, "That's it. I only need two things."

Mel and Frankie looked at each other, telepathy not needed as they both knew what the other was thinking. "Boyd?" Mel said quite innocently.

"A bottle of wine that comes with its own cooler, which counts as one item, and a glass," he replied quite coolly.

"And?" Frankie asked.

Boyd stared at Grace. "That's it."

This time Mel and Frankie didn't dare look at each other. A plan was forming, but they would need Spencer's help. And the man in question gave them the perfect opportunity to waylay him when he said, "Well, that was the most boring game ever. Can we go home now?"

"By all means," Boyd replied. "And please take those two with you." He gestured to Mel and Frankie.

As Spencer started to smirk broadly, Grace groaned and placed her head in her hands. "You could have phrased that a little better, Boyd," she muttered.

"Don't worry about it," Frankie said quickly.

"Yeah, we know what he meant," Mel added.

And with that, they both grabbed an armful of Spencer and dragged him from the office. "Oi! What's the rush?" He grinned roguishly at them. "We've got all night."

Frankie and Mel rolled their eyes in unison. "Oh, please," they chorused.  
"You know how to bruise a man's ego," he complained. "So, what's going on?"

Frankie smiled at him. "We need your help with something."

Spencer immediately became cautious. "Go on."

Mel took a breath. "Well..."

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*Several days later...*

Boyd refused to open his eyes because of the headache forming in his right temple. He had little recollection of the last few hours, except for the fact that alcohol was involved. Lots and lots of alcohol. And something to do with the end of a case. But that wasn't usually cause for such celebration. Why had they been celebrating? In fact, why had Boyd been socialising in the first place? He didn't know and he didn't want to think about it. In fact, he was quite happy to just lie there and listen to the gentle rush of the sea, and the cry of seagulls...

Boyd sat bolt up right and instantly wished he hadn't. His hand flying to his mouth, he tried to quell the rising sense of nausea, not only due to his hangover, but because of his situation. All he could see was sea. Looking carefully up, he could see the canopy of a palm tree, another to his left, and one to his right. Three. Great. But then he saw something floating in the water, and without really thinking about it, he waded out to get it. It was a battered crate and with a little difficult, he dragged it up onto the sand that comprised the island. The irony was not lost on him.

But Boyd was far more interested in something else at that moment he returned to the island, and it wasn't the contents of the crate. It was a leg. Or rather, a pair of them, and with their shape and everything, they looked awfully familiar....

"Grace?"

Grace mumbled something that sounded like it shouldn't have been repeated, even in the presence of hardened criminals and sailors. Boyd just shook his head and yelled.

"Grace!"

"What?" she shouted back, sitting up, and instantly clutching her hands to her hand. "Ohh. What happened?" Then she looked at him properly. "You're wet."

"A very astute observation," Boyd replied dryly. "As for what happened, I'll let you work it out for yourself. It shouldn't take too long."

Grace suddenly realised the sun was shining brightly and shielded her eyes from the light. "Let me guess. This is someone's idea of a joke, right?"

"Not that I know of."

She looked around. "A desert island."

Boyd nodded. "Exactly."

"Stranded."

"It would appear so."

"And how did we end up in this predicament?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," he said.

Grace shook her head very carefully. "All I remember is being in the pub and drinking, and then we got talking about boats and why Frankie didn't like them...."

"And Spencer decided to go down to the docks to cure her of her fear," Boyd continued as his memory started to return.

"And we went with them because responsible adults were needed to supervise," Grace said. Then she glared at him. "That's what you said."

"I never!" Boyd protested. "It was your idea."

"Was not."

"Was too."

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

Both stopped and glared at each other. "Then what happened?" Grace asked.

"I seem to remember one of us suggesting we go out in a boat, and the others agreed," Boyd replied. "And then...boat capsized."

"The others?" Grace asked. "Spencer? Mel? Frankie?"

"Yes, those others."

"No, I mean what happened to them," she said irritably.

"How the hell should I know?" Boyd shouted back. "I'm stuck on a desert island with *you*!"

Grace shook her head again. "No, you've got it wrong. *I'm* stuck on a desert island with *you*!"

Boyd stared at her. "That's the same thing!"

"Whole world of difference," Grace argued.

"You're an impossible woman!" Boyd yelled.

"And you're a perpetual child!" she shot back.

"I can't believe I'm stuck here with *you*!" Boyd turned his back on her, folded his arms, and sulked.

"I can't believe I'm stuck here with *you*!" Grace retorted, following his lead. The silence between them was stony, broken only by the sound of waves and seagulls.

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"So," Spencer said as he looked through the two way mirror at the couple sat with their backs to each other, "How long d'you reckon it'll be before they figure out it's a mock up?"

Mel shrugged. "Who knows?"

"Who cares?" Frankie added. "And the bigger question is...how long will it be before they, you know, 'get it on'?"

Mel shrugged again. "Who knows?"

"Who cares?" Spencer replied in exasperation. "Not a mental image I needed or wanted, Frankie."

"It doesn't matter anyway," Mel said.

Frankie looked at her. "It doesn't?"

She shook her head. "Nope. The only thing that matters is that when they *do* realise it's a mock up, we're nowhere near here!"

Spencer nodded frantically. "Good point."

"Pub, anyway?" Frankie asked, and the three of them made a swift exit.

On the 'island', Boyd's hand snaked around his back, found Grace's ribs, and tickled, causing her to squeal. "I think they've gone," he said, turning to face her.

"So do I. That was a very convincing performance, Peter."

He shrugged. "What can I say? I missed my calling." He smiled. "You didn't do so back yourself."

Grace touched his face and smiled. "So what are we going to do now?"

"Well, they did go to all this trouble for us," he said, his eyes sparkling. "It'd be a shame to waste this opportunity. And I'm willing to bet there are two bottles of wine, one chilled, and two glasses in that crate."

"Should we tell them when we get out?"

"What? That we knew it wasn't real, that we faked everything from the moment we got to the pub before they decided to 'strand' us, or that we've been dating for months?"

"Any," Grace replied. "All."

"None," Boyd said firmly, pulling her in for a kiss.

FIN


End file.
